


The Winter Prince

by saintsavage



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Beauty and the Beast Elements, Blatant Disney Abuse Basically, Frozen AU, M/M, Magic Will Graham, Sass for days, Sassy Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:20:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25256041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintsavage/pseuds/saintsavage
Summary: What happens when Disney meets Hannibal.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45
Collections: Hannigram_Reverse_Bang_2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when Disney meets Hannibal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so much fun to write!!!! The second the art claims were available for this reverse bang I knew this was the piece I wanted to claim, mostly because I enjoy writing silly things on occasion and Will Graham filing a complaint with a magical being is a DELIGHTFUL concept. I was paired with AsthmaDaddy for this event, so kudos to them for their support, inspiration, and the gorgeous artwork!

"Winter is getting colder and colder, isn't it? Last year it wasn't half as cold I'd wager!" It was a common enough subject. Everyone always felt the need to remark on Baltia's unusual weather patterns - or rather, it's _lack_ of them - but Will felt no need to engage in such idle small talk. His response was a grunt, short and inoffensive. The shopkeep paid him no mind, droning on and on about how her brother's son's sweetheart's uncle was sure it was the end of the world while carefully weighing out the rather humble catch Will had brought to market. It was all white noise he couldn't be bothered with; truth be told if he could have lived entirely off the land and spared himself town entirely he would, but there was a danger in staying too isolated, especially when you were like Will.

_"Do you know why we sell our catch in town Will? Buy things we could easily make ourselves?" At six Will had shaken his head no, confused why his father was responding so seriously to his innocent suggestion to never go to town again because it was silly. He'd brought it up after another blanket they'd purchased had slowly unraveled, the quality far less than those they made in the evenings, quietly knitting together the strands from wool they gathered, carded, and spun themselves. "I'll tell you why, little Will. Because you're special. You've got what they call an inkling, a pinch of Knowing that makes people uneasy. And when you're a stranger among them, that uneasiness can be dangerous. So every month we go to town, we spend some time talking to Mr. Budge about his old piano, or stop by and see if Mrs. Katz has any new herbs. We're friendly, but not too friendly. Just enough that people will say 'Oh that fish came from the Grahams, they bring a whole mess of fish once a month to market, some of the best salted trout this side of Baltia!' and won't question if we belong."_

_"But what would happen if we didn't?"_

_"We're not going to find out. Promise me Will, promise me you'll stay safe. That when my time comes you'll do what you have to so people never have a reason to hurt you, do you swear?" Will Senior had become very intense at that moment, long face drawn and pained. Will knew if he focused he could follow the source, carefully trace his father's past until he could root out the hurt. But he didn't need to, not when he'd seen the letters kept in the trunk upstairs, the fragile glass urn that held all that remained of his mother._

And so, begrudgingly, Will kept his word. He came to town once a month, sold what he'd managed to catch, and struggled through a day of being sociable. Mostly he kept to the market, though he did like to check in on Dr. Bloom to see if she needed anything. They'd managed to strike up a friendship as children, and when she surprisingly came back home to open her practice after medical school, their friendship had resumed. Sometimes he'd pop into Beverly's apothecary inherited from her parents. And on rare occasions, he'd submit himself to Jack Crawford's pestering.

Thankfully, Jack was out of town on a hunting trip or so the gossip said. "He just hasn't been the same since Bella took sick, poor man!"

Georgia smiled, somewhat sadly, and handed over three bits of silver. "Catch isn't what it used to be these days, is it?" She wasn't wrong. In the years prior Will had been able to bring nearly double what he'd managed to catch this entire year, but it was getting harder and harder to find places where he could drill through the ice and manage to catch anything.

His response was another grunt, gloved hands pocketing the coins. He'd planned on leaving a bit early - the wolves were getting worse and he didn't like leaving the livestock he kept unattended for long - but as he made his way to the door he overheard a couple of elders talking by the round-bellied iron stove kept towards the middle of the shop. They were telling the story of the Winter Prince to a couple of scraggly, red-nosed children, no doubt warming up after playing out in the cold all day.

It wasn't a new story to Will; hell, it wasn't new to anybody. The Winter Prince was a well-known tale in their village, probably in the whole kingdom, and was a fanciful way to explain why they lived in a land that seemed to be locked in a perpetual winter. He's heard it more times than he cares to think about, but for the most part it was none of his business.

Until now, when it was becoming impossible to even survive off his own catch, let alone procure enough to sell in the market.

_Pity that so-called Winter Prince isn't real. I'd definitely give him a piece of my mind. Several._ With one last nod to the few folks he recognized Will headed back out into the cold, head down against the biting wind in a vain effort to keep his eyes from stinging. By the time he reached the sled, the hour he'd spent warming up inside might as well have been for nothing.

Thankfully the dogs were snug and warm inside the local kennel. While Will did his monthly 'smile and wave' routine he boarded them all at Zeller's place. They couldn't be called friends, and Will would hard-pressed to have an actual conversation with the man, but they both loved dogs, and there wasn't a better boarding kennel in the whole of the village, so it was an arrangement that worked out alright. It helped that Zeller's partner ran the main desk too. "Oh, Will! You're a little early today."

"Storm coming over the pass, don't want to get caught."

"Yes, wouldn't do at all! Just give me a moment to gather up the crew. I hope you don't mind that Buster kept me company today." As Jimmy stood sure enough, there was the scrappy little terrier that Will had managed to rescue from a bear trap last summer - or what passed for summer in Baltia - wagging his tail and squirming to be let loose. The moment that Jimmy set him on the floor Buster scurried right over, jumping in the air with utter confidence that Will would catch him. He did.

"Hey there buddy, you have fun today?" Buster's response was an excited lick to Will's freezing nose.

In short order Jimmy handed over the dogs and even helped Will harness everybody and get them attached to the sled. He didn't have to, but he was one of the few people in town that seemed not to mind Will's silences, comfortable filling the dead air with his own rambling. And at least it wasn't town talk, weather and courting and crops. Price seemed content to say whatever popped into his head with no care for his audience. Will liked that about the man, if he was being honest with himself.

Once the dogs were hooked up the men shook hands and Jimmy headed back to the kennel, humming away. It made Will smile. Still. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm ready for another month of not being social."

A few of the dogs barked, but that was mostly because they were well-rested and ready for a good run. They were a motley assortment, a collection that would make any true musher frown, but Will never cared about looks. He didn't need a bunch of purebred Huskies or powerful Malamutes, Winston and the rest suited him just fine.

"All right everybody, let's go!" With a sharp whistle, they were off, quickly clearing the boundary of the village and entering the wide, open territory beyond. It was about two hours to the homestead, but the team always took the first leg with renewed vigor, bursting at the seams to go, go, go - technically he should have reined them in, conserved their energy, but it always filled him with joy to see his dogs running and happy, and it wasn't an arduous trip for any of them. Little Buster yipped in his basket, the only one of Will's dogs too small to pull the sled.

Up ahead, he could see the swirling blacks and greys of the incoming storm - it was gonna be a bad one for sure.

Strangely, Will couldn't focus on the practical chores to come, what he'd need to do to secure everything and batten down the hatches so that when the storm hit he and his little makeshift family would be safe. Instead, his mind was on the Winter Prince, about the devastating cold that had their entire homeland in a strangehold. There was a time as a boy when he could remember the grass being green in the summer, instead of sad, beaten down yellows and browns. It made him wonder if there really was such a child, holed up in the mountains, cold and alone - stuck with a magic he didn't understand.

Given the burden of his own gifts, Will could only hope the poor kid had died a long time ago.

Still... what if that boy had lived? Had grown and thrived and, in turn, trapped them all in this winter hellhole out of spite? The story wasn't clear on when he was supposed to have fled the castle, or why, and there were many different versions about his fate. It was hard to say what was the truth and what were embellishments added by enthusiastic storytellers hoping to add more interest.

"Whoa!" The thought was ridiculous, but it was enough for him to signal to Winston to stop for a moment, almost an hour outside of town. "I wonder if..." Even if it was true, the boy could have run any which way, miles upon miles of empty plains that turned to thick woods surrounded sleepy Baltia once you left the villages. He could have gone anywhere.

Will closed his eyes, concentrating hard on the story, repeating it again and again in his mind until he could feel the heft of it, the weight. He focused on the brief glimpse he'd had of the queen several years ago during a somber celebratory parade, the tilt of her head, the line of her mouth. He thought about the hurt and fear and _anguish_ that boy must have felt, running for his very life.

When Will opened his eyes, throat tight with hurt and some unknown feeling, there were faint golden footprints in the snow, veering off course towards the woods, hills, and mountains beyond. Straight at the storm brewing overhead, not yet broken. "Well, shit."


	2. Chapter 2

Will could see his breath in the chilly evening light. He knew if he didn't get home before dark there was every chance he'd freeze to death. He wasn't at all prepared for that kind of journey. But he also knew that their home had been frozen over since he was old enough to remember. The cold had taken so many lives, including his father's, and now it made even the life of an isolated hermit nearly impossible.

And that was _bullshit_.

What right did some spoiled Prince have to condemn them all because of an accident? When Will discovered his gifts they hadn't exactly been dangerous and he'd _still_ taken precautions, hidden himself away. It's what you DID if you had magic! You didn't punish the whole world for not understanding, no matter how satisfying the thought of petty vengeance might be it was worse than cruel, and it was that thought that hardened Will's resolve, flooding over reason with anger.

"What do you think guys? Should we give the brat Prince a piece of our minds?" The dogs had varying levels of response, though Winston wagged his tail. Will figured that was the most agreement he'd get from the lot. "Alright everybody, mush!"

Excited to get going again, Winston practically jumped in the air, surging forward at great speed. He wasn't the fastest dog Will had, nor the surest of foot, but everyone knew that the best lead dogs had presence - they needed it to keep the other dogs in line - and the fluffy-coated brindle cross had that in spades. It meant even when the other dogs - like nimble Jasper or the slobbering, somewhat aggressive Rollo - tried to push ahead Winston dutifully redirected their efforts with a sharp bark and the team continued on smoothly.

_"That's a ragged bunch if I ever did see one. Aren't you ashamed of such a poor turnout?" Will could still remember Mason Verger's face when his crew of bred-to-the-hilt Siberian Huskies had lost the (usually) friendly race the town held once a year to Will's "ragged" bunch. Admittedly, he'd only entered because of that comment in the first place, offended on behalf of his beloved rescues who worked so hard to be the best sleddogs they could._

"Gee!" Dutifully, Winston altered his course, turning the team right. The footprints were faint and erratic, halting in places, shifting course. Clearly whoever the prince was, whoever he'd been, had been engulfed in a panic - but even the terrified have to rest, and there were sections that changed from footprints to impressions of a full body or knees in the snow. He could almost see the child there, outlined in faint, glimmery gold, though Will knew he couldn't, not really. His gift might allow him to follow the past like some sort of magic bloodhound, but he couldn't _see,_ not like a seer.

He could only follow the trail.

After another hour they at this point cleared the open, gently sloping plains and entered the woods. Unlike the well-worn route that led to the homestead they were encountering thick bracken and trees that slowly grew denser and denser as they progressed - the land unchanged by mankind. _This is the true wilds, not like back at the farm. This is older, much, much older._

Will brings the team to a halt, finally admitting that following the footprints with the sled is impossible as the underbrush gets thicker and thicker. Reluctantly, he hops off the sled and unhooks the dogs, resolving to abandon the sled and continue on foot. Part of him wonders if he shouldn't command the dogs to head home, knowing Winston would be able to guide them as deftly as he always does, but there's no one to care for them with his father gone. _They'll have to come with._

Buster he picks up from his warm basket and settles in a sling around his neck, snuggling him close. Like his other dogs, Buster had been in a bad way when Will found him in the bear trap, a spunky creature even emaciated and hurting as he had been. He was useless as a sled dog, far too small, but Will kept him anyway because he was such a cheerful companion. _But cheerful wouldn't help him navigate in the heavy snow without being carried._

They start again, the other dogs all on loose leads, tired but still excited to be going for an adventure, sniffing all the trees and bushes, unknowing of the trail they're actually following. Will can admit that he's begun to feel sorry for the boy - the Prince - who had made them. They're clearly outlining the path of someone fleeing in terror, running for his very life, and it makes Will wonder about the events surrounding the Prince's flight.

Some said he was cursed, others said he was a beast. Dozens of whispers, all painting the one-time prince in a dark light, calling him cruel and spiteful, vain and murderous. But they were all so different, it was hard to believe them. Easier to think, to himself, that it was his magic that made the people hate the Prince. But how the King and Queen came to the point of chasing him off, Will couldn't say. _Even at my worst, father kept me._

Will guessed he was going to find out the truth, one way or another.

Night had truly fallen by now, only the faint glow of the half-moon guided them through the woods, but the footprints remain steady and bright, so Will counts on them to not lead him over a cliff without warning. Up ahead, through breaks in the treeline, he thinks he's beginning to see something as they draw closer to the mountains, something at the highest peak.

The mountain range that splits off the western half of Baltia from its eastern borders is legendary, and not the sort of place the inexperienced can dare hope to venture and survive. By the time they begin to climb they're all feeling the difficulty of ascending upward.

The dogs are all exhausted by now and Will makes the decision to stop for the night, all of them curling up together for warmth. He brought the supplies he'd carried to town with him, including a sack of homemade jerky, and he splits it between himself and the dogs - usually, they only get jerky as a treat, so it lifts their spirits some. For water he melts snow and gives each dog a turn - he knows they'll need more in the morning, but it should help replenish them. "Night everybody."

The last thing he remembers is Buster snuggled up against his neck.


	3. Chapter 3

In the early morning light, the castle is a glimmering beacon, and they're _so_ close. And it IS a castle, an unmistakable parody of the one in the city Baltia calls it's capital, though Will has only seen it from a distance. There's no doubt now: whoever he is, whoever he _was_ , the Winter Prince made a place for himself in these mountains.

Will is relieved to know the Prince had survived, that the end of this journey won't result in finding a small, withered corpse surrounded by snowfall. Mostly because it means he can complain in person. (Though the part of him that can't help but sink into the feelings of others is relieved for another reason, grateful to know the mad-dash he was tracking hadn't resulted in an unfortunate death, no after all the boy must have endured to live.)

The climb is getting progressively steeper. By mid-day he has all the dogs leads strapped firmly to his chest in case any of the dogs slip as they climb up, up, up, but Will is beginning to worry that they won't be able to make it. The jerky is gone, the rest consumed that morning, and there isn't even loose snow that they can chew to get water; the howling winds have blown it away and what remains is hard, slippery ice.

Yet following the footprints has proved to be to their advantage. In some places there are even handprints, pointing out holds Will is sure he wouldn't have seen for himself otherwise. For whatever reason, the boy knew how to climb, and he'd picked the best path possible. It makes sense - back then it wouldn't have been so cold, he'd have been able to see the stone beneath.

Behind them, if Will cranes his head he can just make out the villages, the center of Baltia itself, all roughly clad in the skirts of the heavy storm he'd seen the day before. Already he can tell it's making it's way to the mountains at a rapid pace. It's going to hit soon. He needed to hurry...

Try as he might, the blizzard on the horizon reaches them eventually, and it hits them hard. Brutal winds laced with ice bite into the skin around his eyes and nose, battering every visible inch of skin. One by one the dogs are giving up, their loyal hearts no match for the cold. Eventually, Will can't carry any more of them, his arms and back are full, his whole body quaking. His body is becoming heavier, more tired. He knows that's not good, that it's a sign of hypothermia, but he can't force himself to take even a single step forward.

They're so close now, he can make out the intricate details of the turrets and balconies, but they're still so far. _Too far._

Heart heavy with grief, knowing he's doomed his poor dogs to freezing to death on the side of a mountain with him, Will finally curls up on his side and all the dogs surround him, as close as they can get. As his eyes close he murmurs something faint, but the wind steals the words right from his mouth and carries them away.


	4. Chapter 4

Will Graham is warm. Dimly he can hear the crackling of a fire, but the noise resonates strangely, almost as though he's in a great, cavernous space without the human comforts of rugs and tapestries to dampen the sound. "Guess I didn't make it." Shifting a bit, figuring a dead man can sleep as he likes, he's surprised and relieved to feel the weight of a dog behind him, another curled up on his feet. "I'm glad you guys are here too, I'd hate to be dead alone."

"You are not dead, though I cannot say why."

That... that was not a voice Will had ever known, in life or in this strange non-life. It was too clipped, too precise. It had nothing of the warm, syrupy cadence Will was familiar with from his time spent in town. That meant whoever spoke now was decidedly unknown to him and Will, well, Will had never much cared for strangers - the only thing that made the village acceptable was it's familiar faces.

So he opens his eyes with great reluctance... and is faced with a man made of snow.

No, no that wasn't right. Even by the flickering firelight Will can make out the bits of clothing underneath, hardened over with layers upon layers of solid ice, shimmering oddly, reflecting back the flames in a way that made them seem to almost dance. His skin was cast over with frost as well, his hair dusted in it. _Even his eyelashes. This is no golem come to life. He's human. Or was once._

"I was expecting a kid." Not the best way to start out but Will supposes he can be forgiven in the wake of his near-death experience. Even as he speaks, he's moving his hands, tugging off one glove to see if there are any traces of grey or black. _All good, toes next._ As he goes over examining first himself and then the dogs for any hint of what they'd endured - and coming up with no traces of the biting cold on any of them - the man is decidedly silent, observing without movement.

The entire room is indeed vast, with glittering, vaulted ceilings like he'd once seen in the great cathedral. The walls are adorned in intricate designs that are hard to make out in the low light, but he suspects the motif follows along the winter theme. Even the hulking fireplace that is currently keeping him so cozy is made from solid, expertly crafted blocks of ice, absurdly ornate and stretching a good foot higher than the average man. Yet the only piece of furniture within appears to the chair the so-called Winter Prince is gracefully reclining in, one hand to his temple as he watches Will inspect the team.

"Can I ask why I'm here? How I'm here? I'm pretty sure I gave up the goat a good two hundred yards from... well, I'm gonna go with your castle."

"The wind told me." _Well, that tells me exactly nothing._ All of the man's words are carefully chosen, tone modulated to an alarming degree. Will wonders if he's playing at being human - after so many years alone, perhaps he's forgotten.

"The wind told you." Will's own tone is flat and somewhat disbelieving.

"Yes. After that, I decided to see who dared to impose upon my hospitality." Unable to help himself, Will snorts at the idea. It stalls the other man briefly, as though he isn't quite sure how to react to his somewhat unimpressed houseguest now that he's awake. "I discovered you and your animals in the snow, almost behind salvaging. You told me you wished to 'File A Complaint'."

That... well, Will wasn't exactly the most eloquent person even at his best. He supposes he should be grateful that such a statement was pretty subdued considering his normal sarcasm. "So you decided to bring me inside? Awful nice of you."

"It seemed only polite."

While he'd love to continue on with this fascinating non-conversation, Will finds himself yawning widely, still exhausted after his misadventure. Noticing this, the Winter Prince mutters something and moments later two creatures emerge from the depths, carrying handfuls of furs. These are true golems, faceless creatures made entirely out of snow. They're massive and should by all rights be lumbering and awkward, but they manage to be incredibly graceful.

Each golem begins settling the furs around Will and the dogs, dutifully creating a warm little nest. Once they've finished they turn and leave. "Please, rest. I will watch over you."

Unable to come up with another response, Will snuggles down among the furs, feeling of all things safe.


	5. Chapter 5

Morning finds Will waking in the same room, surrounded by warm furs and sleeping dogs, which is right up there for his top five ways to wake up. The Winter Prince is still there, unmoving. _Well, that's not creepy at all._ He puts off conversation for a few minutes, stretching his arms up in the air and turning his head left and right, cracking his neck. The sounds echoed throughout the chamber.

For his part, the Winter Prince blinks. _Okayyyy._

Just when Will is about to break the silence - even HE has limits on awkward staring - he notices movement underneath the Winter Prince's finely tailored ice sculpture of a jacket. A moment later a furry nose peeks out, followed by an excited yip and a certain scruffy terrier scrambling out down from the chair to excitedly lick at Will's face. "Looks like you made a friend, Buster."

"Might I inquire as to how you managed to climb the mountain? The passage should be impossible, even to those who are well prepared, as you were not." Again, the Winter Prince has a voice that is not exactly monotone, but it's neutral to such a degree as to come off as unnatural and forced. _I wonder how long he's been working on that little speech?_ It doesn't make the short stab about Will being woefully unprepared sting any less.

"That is zero percent your business." He wants to argue the point a bit more, but his stomach gurgles loudly. "Sorry. Guess whatever magic hand-wave you did to prevent me from losing pieces didn't extend to filling my stomach."

The noise seems to have spurred the Winter Prince into action and he rises for the first time that Will has known him, even more imposing at full height, almost towering over Will as he extends his hand out. It's an overly polite gesture, the sort of pretty theater you'd see some gallant suitor extend to the maiden of his choice, but Will isn't an idiot. He knows his legs feel like they belong to a day old colt and he's not about to turn down the help. "My apologies, if you'll come this way, food has been prepared."

As he stands, every bit as shaky as he expected to be, more golems emerge, gently herding the dogs... _elsewhere_. But Will doesn't question. They seem harmless enough and if Hannibal wanted to hurt his pack he could have left the whole lot dying on his doorstep. It's a huge show of trust for Will, who barely lets Zeller watch the dogs, but he's too mired in his own curiousity to wonder at that.

Instead, Will follows the Prince down a wide corridor, every bit as lavish as the room Will had slept in and the exterior. _I sense a theme: ostentatious and in-your-face winter._ He doesn't speak, neither of them do, but it's a comfortable enough silence that he feels no desire to break it, choosing to be led to a seat just to the right of the head of the table. But then the Prince steps back, hands resting behind his back, staring again.

"Do you... I mean, you eat too, right?" Two golems enter the room, each carrying different platters made from what Will assumes is ice and delicately setting them on a sideboard before they remove the covers and begin creating a plate. Plate _singular_.

"The cold sustains me."

For the first time since Will woke up in the ice palace, he registers an air of dishonesty from the other man and is uncertain as to why. "Why lie?"

"I'm sorry?" Again, the Prince seems very caught off guard by Will's behavior, as though he'd rehearsed their interaction before it even began, and Will is not following along to that script. _Tough_.

"You're human. You eat. Why bother lying about it?" One of the golems gently rests a plate before Will, steaming and piled high with eggs and cooked sausage. The plate - though clearly made of ice - doesn't appear to be spreading any kind of cold to the food itself, nor is it melting. Will side-eyes the Prince, somewhat impressed. That level of magic does not come easily.

"I am a creature composed of magic, I assure you, food is unnecessary for me."

"Nope, not buying it." Will is pretty sure the Winter Prince's eye twitches minutely even as Will digs into his plate, groaning at the taste. It's _delicious_. "So, uh, what is your name? It's super weird to call you the Winter Prince."

"You have no need to know my name."

"And people say _I'm_ rude."

"I am not rude." The prince is cooly affronted, drawn up in his dignity like a wet cat.

"You're a little rude. And grumpy. Probably because you skipped breakfast." It hasn't escaped Will's notice that the golems have gone back to preparing a plate, something the Prince seems to have missed. "Sausage is good, eggs too. You should try some."

"I will have you know-"

"If you don't eat why do you have food up here?" Will's smile is absolutely _smug,_ but he could be downright tenacious when it suited him.

The Winter Prince looks absolutely _mutinous_ , but he does seat himself at the head of the table, refusing to make eye contact with Will as one of the golems brings over the Prince's serving. "I will not dignify your jibes with a response." Will grunts. It had bothered him for some reason, seeing the Prince trying to be some otherworldly creature, like an elemental or a sprite. He didn't like it. Whatever had happened to him, the Prince _was_ human, and it wasn't fair that he'd worked so hard to strip that away from himself, no doubt in spite of whoever had caused him to flee in the first place. It didn't sit well with Will.

After a long pause, with both men enjoying their breakfast, the Prince speaks again, this time in a soft voice, colored with small, quiet hurt. A child's hurt. "How did you know?"

Gesturing at the golems who stand in solemn attendance, as though it explains everything, Will talks through a mouthful of what is undeniably a ridiculously good protein scramble. "Golems don't do anything they aren't already created to do from the start, especially not something complicated like preparing a meal. Ergo, you made them with serving meals in mind. You eat, Fancy Pants."

The hurt is gone, replaced once more with outrage. "Beg pardon?"

"I said you eat-"

"I was referring to the _extremely_ undignified moniker you called me, do not demean us both by pretending you do not know that!" _Only fifteen minutes in my presence and his already yelling. Definitely human._

"Fair enough. If you aren't gonna tell me your name then I'm going to name you like I would one of my strays, Fancy Pants."

"You may call me 'My Lord', as appropriate to one of your station." The disdain is practically dripping from his words. It's _hilarious_.

"Awfully bossy for a guy who hides in the mountains." At any moment, the Prince's eyes will pop out of their sockets, surely. Feeling benevolent, Will tries again. "My name is Will Graham. Your name is...?"

"My Lord is sufficient, _Will Graham_."

 _Honestly_.


	6. Chapter 6

After their meal - which ends in silence, as the Prince is in the throes of what Will's dad would have called a right strop - Will gets to his feet and follows the Prince back to the main room he'd been in before. Now that the light is better, he realizes the storm has cleared and the palace is even _more_ opulent than he'd first supposed. _Though how he manages it is beyond me. Magic like this, it takes years to build up the skill to create, let alone maintain. How long has he been up here anyway, all by himself, with only the company of golems he's created?_ The dogs are waiting for him, tails wagging. They've clearly been taken outside and fed and Rollo even has a bit of snow on the top of his head.

Which... Will supposed that meant it was time to go home. He'd made his complaints known (kind of) and had managed to solve a mystery he never expected. "Well, this was incredibly awkward. So thanks for saving me, and not letting me freeze to death, but I'm going to go home now and pretend this didn't happen." Short, sweet, to the point.

The Prince blinked, sphinx-like. _Seriously, is that his only response? Blinking? I'm tempted to stick my tongue out at him just to get a real reaction._ "I think not."

"Really it was-" Will stopped, grinding to a halt as he registers what, exactly, the Prince has said. "Come again?"

"You will be remaining here, as my guest." Though his voice shows no emotion, the corner of his mouth drifts ever so slightly up, as though one of the scenarios in his mind was _finally_ playing out as intended. Will is unimpressed.

The dogs seem to sense Will's distress, as doggy delight fades to concern and worry. Winston wanders over and puts his head against Will's knee while Buster stands on his hind legs to the other side of him, yipping softly. The others have all moved closer, uneasy with the tension in the room. Annoyed as he is, Will still comforts the dogs, picking up Buster and scratching at Winston's ears. "Guest implies choice."

"I choose to have you here."

"That's an argument a five-year-old makes, _My Lord_." The title is thrown out dripping in sarcasm. "And if I don't want to stay?"

"Irrelevant."

Will can't help it, outraged by the absolute gall of the magic-wielding Prince before him. _He's damn lucky I can't shoot fireballs or I'd singe his eyebrows clear off._ "Irrelevant? Listen here Fancy Pants, you don't get to just keep me here! I have a home, responsibilities!"

"My name is Hannibal, and as my most esteemed guest you shall refer to me as such."

Will is sputtering, absolutely _livid_. "I don't know what you're playing at, _Hannibal_ , but I'm leaving!"

"You may make the attempt."

Will does. he spends hours roaming through the palace, through rooms more beautiful even than dreams. There's libraries, cathedrals, no less than two great ballrooms. The rooms are all expansive, with every small corner filled with the most delicate detailing you can imagine. There's no place on earth quite like it, Will's sure.

There's no exit.

\--------------------------------------

Meanwhile, back on the northernmost outskirts of Baltia, Jack Crawford observes the fourth corpse in as many days that he's been forced to bear witness too, a thing twisted and torn beyond all recognizable shape until it was nothing more than a bloody ruin. _Another one. I thought with the full moon waning we'd get lucky, have a break for another few weeks while we tracked the damn thing down..._ "You're sure it's new? This isn't something from yesterday or the day before?"

"No, it's Gregor Thompson sir. I recognized the medal he had... well, it was found with the remains. He was seen last night, shortly before dark, headed out to gather his sheep. He's been keeping his flock close, but they're still out to pasture when we checked. It must have grabbed him before he got there. He left his collie with the flock to protect them.... a damn shame, she'd have given that damn thing a run for its money. Or at least alerted him to the danger."

"A dog can't fight off a werewolf. It may have struck so fast he didn't even have time to react." Not entirely true, in his experience werewolves thrived off of the suffering of their prey, but it was a comforting lie, something to make the young watchman feel less guilt about the death of someone he'd known. That was all Jack had to offer until he could get Will out here to track it. He'd tried everything, but the creature was incredibly cunning, more so than any other he'd encountered. He wondered if there wasn't something more to this than a simple shapeshifter - which was why he wanted Will on this.

_I know I told him I'd leave him in peace unless it was important... but people are dying. That is important enough._

\--------------------------------------

Although he's absolutely, positively, _one hundred percent_ furious with Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham can admit the man does have an excellent library. It's his only redeeming feature at the moment as he continues to hold Will captive - which, Will didn't understand that at all. He was terrible company! Churlish at his best, downright hostile at his worst! But Hannibal seemed to enjoy his surly remarks and sharp tongue. He delighted it prodding at Will, trying to discover just what made him tick. Little pokes, here and there, gleaning every bit of information he could about Baltia in the time he'd been away

It wasn't all on Will sharing, either. Hannibal could be very open when he chose to be, though at first he'd been very hesitant to divulge anything. But with Will's uncommon gifts the other man must have assumed it was pointless to fight against the inevitable, and he began sharing all kinds of things - small snippets of his life, how he made a certain enchantment or crafted a particular doorway. He was incredibly intelligent, that went without saying, and he seemed to greatly enjoy sharing that part of himself with Will.

In time, he showed Will a large, glistening courtyard that he'd created, filled with heavy winter pines and even a perfect oval lake, frozen solid and perfect for skating. The dogs loved it, spent hours roughhousing and running through the winding paths while Will and Hannibal meandered on behind them, talking about everything and nothing. On one occasion Will and distracted the other man long enough to throw a snowball at the back of his perfectly coifed head - and his reaction was _priceless_.

Overall, they were living in an unsteady sort of peace, a temporary ceasefire declared simply because they were enjoying each other's companionship so much.

Will knew it would have to end eventually, but surely he could stay just a while longer?

\--------------------------------------

By the time Jack has managed to make it to Will's godforsaken homestead that might as well have been on the other side of the globe, he knows there's something wrong. Instantly he's on alert, noting that there's no smoke coming from the chimney, that the dogs aren't running up to greet him. As he gets closer he can see the door is partially open, the handle thickly covered in ice.

He can't help the shiver that traces up his spine, seeing that. Remembering where he'd seen something very similar before. _No, he's dead. Dead and gone. And good riddance._

But there's no denying Will is not home. That there's frost skimming the surface of nearly everything he owned within the small two-bedroom cabin, lingering in the places where Jack knew Will enjoyed most, like the table where he tied his flies, or the chair sat next to a humble bookshelf. Something had been in Will's cabin. _Someone_.

Outside the animals are not starved, but they've clearly been left alone for some time, and Jack makes a point to feed and water them, mostly as a way to buy himself some time to think. He can't believe the truth, it's too impossible, it just can't be... but who else did he know in the whole of Baltia who controlled the cold that way? Who else might have been interested in a man like Will Graham? Who other than Hannibal Lecter, the crown prince everyone had made into a fairytale rather than face the beastly reality of him?

_So help me, I think the bastard lived. And now he has Will._


	7. Chapter 7

Will isn't entirely sure when the topic first comes up, the days have sort of begun to blur together. _How long has it been? A week? Two? ...more?_ It's just that when he looks back on his life back at the homestead, it just seems so lonely in comparison. He can't even give himself a good enough reason to want to go back, other than he knows that it's what his father had wanted for him - a nice, normal life. As normal a life he could have with his particular skills. _He'd have been horrified to find me hiding out in a literal magic castle with someone like Hannibal, who has so completely shed every scrap of human that he could. He embodies everything magic users are told not to be, and he does it with such flair._

For whatever reason, Hannibal had asked Will if he knew how to dance. He thinks it might have been when he had cheekily asked why Hannibal even had created a ballroom for himself if he never intended to have guests. _'I felt that no castle could be a proper castle without one. Tell me Will, do you dance?'_ Feeling crabby, the answer was along the lines of Dancing Is For The Rich And I Am Above It.

But the subject came up again, then twice more, and before he knew it the golems were gently trying to coax Will into the most expensive suit he'd ever laid eyes on, richly embroidered velvet with gemstones set right on the fabric, rubies and sapphires, even diamonds! _Diamonds_! "Uh, what's going on? Guys?" The snowy golems could be persistent when they wanted to be, but they couldn't hurt him. Unfortunately, they couldn't respond to him either so eventually he fled his room still wrapped up in his usual furs, intent on finding Hannibal.

_Wait. Since when is it my room?_

Sure, Hannibal had it made especially for him, closely tailored enough to Will's tastes that he absolutely _knew_ the bastard had managed to snoop at the homestead, but that didn't mean it was his. It was a guest room, that was all. And he stayed there as a _guest_ only.

"Hannibal? Hannibal, what is going on?" He didn't need to use his gift to find the other man, but his footsteps glowed softly anyway, gold against the marble-like floors that he knew were made of ice from a very specific part of the forest, a secluded lake with the clearest waters in all of Baltia. _Christ, at this point I know every part of this place, what makes it so important._

He found him in the grand ballroom, looking immaculate in a lavishly made tailcoat and pants. It was even more absurd than Hannibal's normal getup, but somehow, as always, he made it look regal and sharp. Suddenly the reason for the golems insistence on him being better attired became quite clear, as a string quartet began to softly play in the corner. Like everything, the instruments were so finely made he didn't doubt that put true ones to shame, and they were crystal clear, practically invisible. "Oh. Oh... I, I see."

"Will." The word, unlike everything else about Hannibal, about the enchanted palace Will somehow found himself occupying, was _warm_. It brought a blush to Will's cheeks, though he couldn't say why.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know, and I'm all..." He felt guilty now, wishing he'd dressed in the clothes Hannibal must have picked especially for him. Instead he was wearing his second-best winter jacket and scuffed boots.

"It doesn't matter, there is no dress code for dancing." It was like Hannibal didn't even see Will's frayed cuffs or mussed hair that had been firmly shoved under a woolen cap. It was like he saw someone else entirely, and Will couldn't help but enjoy the feeling of being seen as special. Not because of what he could do, but because of who he was.

"Is that what we're doing?" Will tries to snark his way out of the lump in his throat, but steps forward anyway, taking Hannibal's hands and following the man as he effortlessly guided them across the dance floor. It was a perfect moment. The kind that girls back in the village would swoon over, would ohhh and ahhhh and gloat about.

Naturally, Will had to ruin it.

"Hannibal, why did you run away?" For once in his life, Will wants to smack himself for being such an asshole because Hannibal was completely frozen in place. Even the music stopped. "I'm sorry, I just blurting that out you don't-"

"I did something very bad. I was trying to be good, to use my magic to protect my people, but something went wrong and I-" Hannibal swallows, and at that moment Will notices that his skin has lost its normal pallor, eyes almost golden instead of gleaming and depthless. _He looks as human as he really is, he dropped some of the glamour. He wanted to show me and I'm such an idiot._

"Whatever it was, it couldn't have been on purpose. Didn't they let you explain?"

"There was no time. One moment I was practicing, just as we'd worked out, and the next I heard a noise. I thought I was being tested, so I attacked... but my sister had snuck into the attic. She was in her little nightdress and just wanted to play and I froze her completely." They aren't dancing now, but Will finds himself moving a bit closer, trying to offer comfort. He can't imagine what that must have felt like, his magic hurting someone, especially not a helpless little girl, his own blood... "So you see, even if they didn't want me, I had to plunge the whole of the kingdom into winter, because if it ever gets too warm Mischa will die. Frozen as she is, there may still be hope, but not if I allow summer to come."

"Hannibal, that's awful. You've just been trying to keep her safe, and they don't even thank you for it, they make you stay here-"

"I was not banished, precisely. There was a man in the palace, a guard. He'd been helping me learn to use my magic for good, he wanted me to be able to save lives. But once he saw what happened to Mischa he turned on me completely, accused me of being a monster. They chased me out. And by now I'm little more than a fairytale."

Will doesn't know why, but something about the way Hannibal talks of the guard reminds him of someone. That line of thinking... it's very in line with jack Crawford's thinking. it's certainly the stick he chooses to hit me with if I don't go where he asks. 'People are dying Will, you should want to use your powers for good!' His face twists into a snarl because it makes such perfect sense. Of _course_ Jack had coaxed Hannibal into trying to become some sort of monster hunter. Isn't that what he did with Will now? Only Will wasn't capable of a full-frontal assault, he didn't have a tenth of Hannibal's sheer power. _And the second something went wrong, he cut his losses_.

"It was Jack, wasn't it?"

The other man seems startled by the immediate connection, though he doesn't question how Will was able to piece it together. It was just what Will _did_ , and Hannibal accepted that completely. "Yes, Jack Crawford was my mentor. I thought he was my friend."

"Jack doesn't have friends. He uses people like us when it suits him, usually to hunt other people _just like us_."

They're so close now. Somehow Will's arms are around Hannibal's back, one drifting up to the other man's neck. Hannibal's arms are wrapped around Will too. And then they're kissing, as close as they can get, fast and desperate and hungry for the understanding they found in one another. it was a bit like a lightning strike. Until that moment Will would have denied having feelings for Hannibal, would have insisted that he was Definitely Going Home At Some Point, but how could he?

The knowledge acts as a divining rod, suddenly propelling Will backward until he crashes into the wall, a massive golden light spewing from his chest, looking for somewhere to escape. A premonition that _needed_ to be known. Without properly knowing what he is doing, Will's eyes lock on a nearby mirror and the light directs itself there, filling up the reflection until a scene is revealed. It's the town of Baltia, it's nightfall but there are torches burning everywhere, angry faces - such fury! Will has never seen anyone so angry, let alone a whole mob of people he knows - and... and Jack at the helm of them all, shouting at the crowd. "We have to drive him out, once at for all! The Winter Prince has held us in his vise for far too long, slowly strangling us with the cold! And now he's begun to pick us off, one by one, starting with those of us who are most vulnerable: our homesteaders, like Will Graham, too far away from the village for us to hear their cries as that monster devours them! Well, I say no more winter!"

The image fades.

"I think I have premonitions now." Understatement of the century.

"Yes, I think you do."


	8. Chapter 8

Knowing how well magical folk tend to fare when confronted with an angry mob, Will's first thought is to high-tale it back to town and convince themself he killed Hannibal in some grand spectacle, but Hannibal very quickly jettisons that plan with logic. "When winter does not end, what will they do to you then? And I do not wish to be parted from you. Let them come.

"Yeah, that's the problem. You'll massacre them and while I'm not particularly fond of the villagers it's not their fault. They just don't understand magic and it scares them. People like Jack use that."

"So what do we do then, dear Will?" The endearment slips out so naturally that Will wonders how long Hannibal has been waiting to use it. _Probably since he found me in the snow. Probably thought up a whole sonnet about a lost sprite foundling with the face of a saint because he's the most ridiculous person in the world. Oh god, what if he wants to recite it to me? Please don't let him ever recite a sonnet to me. I'd spontaneously combust._

"We... we..." Hannibal is waiting patiently, somehow amused by the fact that a literally Angry Mob is headed their way. And unlike Will, the men coming for them are prepared for the trek. Jack might have worked everybody into a frenzy, but the mirror is acting as a sort of conduit now, and it's shown them that there's a group of heavily armed, well-trained men headed straight for Hannibal's home - eeriely honed in on the location, like they know exactly where it is.

Will knows why on the second day when he sees the poor creature they've managed to chain in silver that must be eating away at his skin. Jack managed to catch a werewolf, no wonder he can find us. The poor thing can probably smell magic like Hannibal's from a hundred miles away, and with those chains on him, he'd do anything they asked, just for relief from the pain. _This isn't good._

_We need a plan. My magic has decided to throw me a bone for once and I don't know what to do with the advantage! Think Will, think!_

"Will, please, do not worry yourself over this. I promise not to hurt your friends."

"But what if they hurt you?"

"Impossible."

"Jack _hunts_ us, Hannibal. He's done it for as long as I've known him and he's damn good at it! We don't know if those men with him are even all human, the werewolf certainly isn't and I'm sure he'll be deadly enough just on his own."

"It will be okay, Will. I wish you wouldn't be so upset, I have promised not to harm them, and I keep my word."

"And if they attack you you'll just stand there? That's not acceptable either you nitwit. And if you're even thinking about some show of self-sacrifice I swear to you I'll kick your teeth in." Hannibal doesn't have a response to that, his mouth thinning to be called out so effortlessly. "Yeah, I'm not stupid. _I know you._ You'd do whatever you had to, including that. But I don't want to lose you, okay? So we're going to have to fix this, together."

"Together."

\-----------------------------

"You'll have to be quick. It's been years since I last saw him, but the Prince is incredibly powerful. The most powerful creature I've ever encountered, which is why he's been spared for so long."

"You think the shapeshifter can take him out, even out our odds?" Zeller was a small man and had no great love for the likes of Will Graham, but he had been raised in the deep woods before coming to the city and he was a damn good climber, that made him useful to their mission. _Besides which, if Will's dead it means that thing killed the dogs too, and that just isn't fair. Those dogs wouldn't anyone._

"No, but he'll keep him occupied long enough to let us do what needs doing."

"Yes, and what needs doing is a nasty little spell from your favorite hedgewitch, isn't that right Jackie boy. Go on, say it again. I love to hear it, almost as much as I love my royal pardon. Which, my my, whoever would have guessed that luscious queen produced such a monster!" Jack physically has to restrain himself from voicing his displeasure. He hadn't liked enlisting Gideon in his affairs. he was a sneak-thief and a poisoner besides, but unfortunately, Hannibal was just too powerful. To take him out, they'd never ever nasty trick they could rustle up, and that meant dealing with the likes of Abel Gideon.

"You're my favorite hedgewitch, Gideon."

"Really now, say it again, with feeling! Why I'm almost beginning to think you don't like me, and that would just crush my spirit. I wouldn't be able to get my magic up if that was true. It would be an awful shame, were I unable to perform on our big night."

"I said _you're my favorite hedgewitch, Gideon_. And it's true because you're the only one I got a royal pardon for."

"Bravo Jackie darling. I almost believed you."

\-----------------------------

It should have been a big scene - a battle, some kind of fight, passionate words spilled out over angry hearts. That's what it always is, right at the climax point of all the action, a real showstopper.

But sometimes an angry mob comes to your door, releases a werewolf and a hedgewitch, and said individuals turned on their human companions immediately, tearing into the group of men with vigor. The werewolf in a literal sense.

Hannibal shielded Zeller without being asked, seeing Will's reaction to the man. But the rest were strangers to him, hirelings who had no idea what - or who - they were hunting. Hannibal spared no pity for those lives, watching calmly as the werewolf began loping off into the woods to lick his wounds. The hedgewitch gave an over-the-top bow, signaling his submission to a much greater user of the magical arts than himself. "Never fear, I remain your humblest fan, my Prince."

"Wait... Hannibal, did you _plan_ this?" Of all the stupid, idiotic things to do, trusting somebody like Abel Gideon to turn on Jack and hoping he actually followed through? It was incredibly risky! Anything could have gone wrong, and what then?

"When the mirror showed us that Gideon was among their ranks, it was a small effort to ask him to join us. He's always been excessively fond of coin, and power."

Upon hearing his name, the man in question straightened up, practically beaming. "And I'm equally in love with the idea of Jack Crawford being eaten alive. It seems today is a day where all of my fondest dreams come true."

Ignoring Gideon's antics, Will stands in front of Hannibal, hands on his hips like a nagging fishwife. "You could have told me Hannibal!"

"I didn't want you to worry, Will. Besides, Gideon could easily have turned his coat again."

Gideon scoffed. "I'll have you know I only turn my coat once in a season, it's bad for business otherwise."

"Didn't want me to worry? I was out of my MIND with worry! Trying to figure out how nobody would die, or at least nobody I liked, and that you'd be safe too! And I was so scared that I'd fail, that I couldn't convince them to leave..."

There's genuine remorse on Hannibal's face now, golden eyes overflowing with apology. "Will, I never meant..."

"I know! And you know I know and I don't even know why I'm yelling except that I'm so stupid happy right now!"

"That's... that's good, isn't it?"

"Yes, yes it is. It's better than good, you know why?"

"Why is that?"

"Because I'm not going home. You fed me so I'm staying here forever. And we're going to keep getting dogs, and we'll figure out a way to save Mischa, and we're going to have a damn happy ending!"

"Eloquent as always, Will."

From behind the wall of ice encircling him, Brian could only groan. "Uh, can I go home now?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is more dialogue than anything, I had more to it... but it just didn't flow well and it felt so clunky that I cut it last minute. I also decided to completely change the last two chapters like a monster, which resulted in it being rough and choppy and awful, but I'm happier.
> 
> Also: Jack, I'm sorry you're Gaston. You deserved better than that, tbh.


End file.
